Sagacity
by BFTLandMWandSEK
Summary: Four months ago, Alfred Kirkland died in a house fire, sparking the unravel of the secrets his hometown hides. But as more and more lies come to light, those who seek to discover them will be left in ruins.


**Story Summary: **Before the death of Alfred F. Kirkland, everything in Sadiq Adnan's life was comfortably safe. His whole world consisted of nothing but the constant duty of taking care of his younger brother. He sacrificed his friends and even himself in order to reach it. Three months after Alfred's passing, however, his world starts to fall apart as the delinquent of his high school's junior class takes a sudden interest in him. Now, as things in Sadiq's life start to come together, the lies everyone else in his small town spun start to fall apart. Why exactly is Ivan Braginki so fascinated in him? What secrets is Sadiq's childhood friend, Monica Bonnefoy, hiding from him? What actually happened to Alfred F. Kirkland? Will everything be the same once the snow comes?

**Note: **This is the fanfiction version of the tumblr story blog _aph-sagacity_, which is an interactive form of storytelling. The course of the story is periodically determined by the choices of the readers. The text below is generally the same as on the blog, though a few edits were made to better the continuity. For more consistent updates, please follow that blog. The link is in my profile.

Furthermore, _Sagacity _is a redone version of the earlier fanfiction _Within Ash and Snow. _Although the story was not completed due to mistakes in the plot made by the author, the basics still contain many similarities, but even more differences. All cannon in the previous story is to be considered illegitimate unless reinstated in this version.

**Warnings: **Strong language, mentions of death, alcoholism.

* * *

_He sat in the snow, the little dots of white falling from the sky. They piled around him, filling up the hole he tried to dig. He didn't care, though. He had to get to the bottom. Somewhere, beneath the crystal white ice was the dirt and somewhere in the dirt was the bracelet._

_He had been in such a hurry to return to the wood—to search for the stupid thing —that he forgot to put on his gloves. The cold bit his fingers, making his skin red and painful to the touch. The snow he so desperately dug at was harder than a rock. Cold blood split from the tips of his fingers. If he did not stop digging soon, his nails would rip off completely._

_It was painful and he knew it. He could feel the tremors travel up his arms, making him sick to his stomach. Red smeared as easily as paint on a plain white canvas. But he couldn't stop._

_He had to find it._

* * *

**[Chapter 1: Parts 1-4]**

* * *

To Sadiq, the classroom was far too empty. The white walls— decorated with posters of European knights and famous figures —made the rows of desks seem more vast than the Atlantic Ocean. The radiating pain in his jaw improved his mood just as much as the sharp chill of the ice pack he pressed to it. Still, all he could do about it was lean back in his seat and resist the urge to groan irritably as Mr. Bonnefoy prepared himself for his speech.

Everyone at Everest's single high school knew that Mr. Bonnefoy, the European history teacher, was as alluring as he was dramatic. His blond locks were what the majority of his female students fawned over, sighing in longing as they swished back and forth with the movements of his head. Mr. Bonnefoy looked down at the mint green paper and sighed sorrowfully. "Sometimes I think that the students at this school hate me," he said, the heels to his brown penny loafers patting on the tile floors. "Not only do we have five very naughty boys—"

Sadiq rolled his eyes and raised his hand high up into the air. "Naughty?" he repeated as he pressed an ice pack harder. His brown eyes— "Nearly gold," his mother once told him —gave the blond man at the front of the classroom an annoyed look. "I really don't think that's the right word, Mr. Bonnefoy."

Mr. Bonnefoy shook his head, his long locks swishing noisily. "No, I meant naughty," he said. "According to my lucky little list here—" he flicked his piece of paper. "—you and Lovino over there got into a fight before fifth period—"

From his isolated corner of the classroom, a boy with curly dark hair and a slightly figure slapped his tanned hands on the desk and jumped to his feet. "For the last time," he snapped, his livid green eyes only showing a quarter of his frustration. "It's that bastard's fault, not mine!"

Mr. Bonnefoy scowled. "Watch your language. You're in enough trouble as is."

Lovino glowered with a dark glare for a moment longer before finally lowering himself back to his seat. He crossed his arms over his chest. "But it wasn't my fault," he muttered. He rubbed his fingers into his chest where Sadiq had dared to punch him barely three hours earlier.

"Right now I really don't want to hear it." The teacher waited a moment, making sure that all five of the students he had to watch over that day were settled down. Luckily for him, all of them were too apathetic to even care in the first place. He cleared his throat and straightened his navy blue tie. "Anyways you and Lovino got into a fight, Ivan there did not attend the majority of his classes today—" Every eye turned to Ivan, but the bulky brute only shrugged.

Naturally, it being a small town, Sadiq knew who Ivan Braginski was. He was a junior at Everest High with a loving mother and father and a sister who clung just a little too much. This year, he seemed to give off the appearance of a loner. He once was friends with the jocks at the school, but once Alfred F. Kirkland passed away …

Either way, Ivan was alone now. Not that it seemed to have much of an effect on him. Whenever Sadiq saw him in the hallways, there was always a slight smirk on his face. It was like he knew something, a joke everyone had yet to indulge in. And frankly, it pissed Sadiq off more than Lovino's overly harsh nature.

"Tim was caught smoking weed in the bathrooms again—"

Tim, lounging in his desk by the door with his feet propped up, pointed a finger into the air. "That is a lie," he said curtly, his face harder than stone. "I was in the bathroom with no knowledge of the weed in the next stall over and no one can prove otherwise or else I wouldn't be here."

Then there was Tim Jansen, a high school senior whose infamy was even heard of in the city an hour's drive off. His dull face and spiky dirty blond hair was almost a symbol, a sign for trouble afoot. Everyone knew that he had some key part in some of the town's drug troubles (everyone knew that Gilbert Beilschmidt, owner of the ice cream parlor on 7th Avenue takes a few huff every now and then), but no matter how hard the police tried they were never able to pin him to something concrete. He was evasive, like a fox on the hunt.

Tim was at the top of Sadiq's hate list.

Mr. Bonnefoy looked at from his paper and smiled wryly. "Is today 'Annoy Your History Teacher Day' because everyone here seems to be content with doing just that, especially you—" he pointed to a petite girl sitting at the desk by the windows. She was idly playing with a deck of cards, though she was now looking up at him in surprise. "—my dear daughter. Getting sent to detention on the day you're own _father _is in charge? Are you trying to break my heart?"

Monica Bonnefoy played with the ends of her chestnut braid, a grimace reaching up to even the edges of her wire glasses. "I'm sorry, Dad," she said through gritted teeth. "But Cai and I were just playing cards."

Cai Zhang, a tall boy with slick black hair and sensible glasses nodded. "It was just a harmless game of poker," he added.

"And in case you two forgot, gambling is not allowed on campus!" Mr. Bonnefoy sighed, leaning back into his desk as he placed his hand on his forehead. "You're all giving me a headache," he complained. "I'm too old to be putting up with your shenanigans."

"Perhaps you should retire already," Ivan suggested snidely.

"Braginski, I am old but I still have a lot of youth left in me." Their teacher smiled at all of them, suddenly looking as though he was satisfied with the day's catch. "If everyone promises to be good for the next ten minutes, I'll let you all socialize with each other for the rest of the hour. Deal?"

Everyone but Sadiq muttered an agreement. If one had to get detention, Mr. Bonnefoy was the preferred person for this exact reason. He may complain about the failures of this generation all he wanted, but he always went very easy on them, unlike his brother-in-law, the English teacher Mr. Kirkland. That man always forced the day's trouble makers into writing essays for the hour.

But Sadiq's mind was too far away to even acknowledge that fact. At that moment, he was only aware that Monica was in the room. He prayed that perhaps she would ignore him, but something told him that today he wasn't going to be that lucky.

Mr. Bonnefoy started the ten minute timer. Sadiq sighed, fumbling with his icepack in order to fit it on his bruised cheek as he put his head down. A long time ago, he and Monica were friends. They were conjoined at the hip, never wanting to separate from each other. But then Sadiq screwed it up in middle school and now he did his best to avoid her. He resisted a groan. He still had no idea why she was so upset about it. Most girls would have brushed it aside and simply called in a perv. But Monica— the girl made it second to the end of the world. Really, it was _her _fault, not his.

Sadiq must have dozed off a bit since the next thing he knew, the buzzer was going off and he could hear Mr. Bonnefoy clapping his hands together. "Alright, guys. Go talk to each other." Sadiq didn't move. He would rather spend the hour catching up on some desperately needed sleep.

He sensed her before she spoke. There was something unforgettable about the way she always held her hands in front of her, hanging just a few inches from the edges of her pleated red skirt. Monica stood there awkwardly for a moment, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. Still, he did not move.

Monica coughed softly. "Uh, Sadiq?" He ignored her, pretending not to hear.

But he heard Tim when he muttered, "Don't ignore your girlfriend, Adnan." As much as Sadiq would have taken pleasure in hitting him as well, he decided that it would be best to stay quiet and ignore him also.

"Oh be quiet, Tim," Monica snapped back, the scowl on her face plain in her voice. She knelt down to Sadiq's desk and gently poked his arm. "C'mon Sadiq," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. "Please tell me you're awake."

There really was not much point left in arguing with her. Sadiq shifted a bit in his seat, but kept his face down. "Yeah, I am."

Monica was silent for a long moment, waiting for him to say anything else, but it was apparent that his laconic reply was all she was going to receive. She sighed, nudging him gently once again. "Well can you look at me?" She asked impatiently. "We need to talk."

Sadiq raised his head, smugly pressing his lips together into a flat line. "Weren't you the one who said that she didn't want to talk?" he asked. He watched with satisfaction as the tips of her ears flushed a bright red, like they always did when she was mad. Monica puffed her cheeks, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked away.

Sadiq frowned. She was being a brat, he told himself. _She _was the one who broke off their friendship all those years ago, not him. He was the one who originally begged for forgiveness. Why the hell was she suddenly changing her mind? "_She was never able to make up her mind right," _He thought, placing his ice pack back on his chin. Either the cold was working or his endorphins were finally kicking in since the ache seemed to be significantly less, almost entirely alleviated.

Three desks to his left, Ivan Braginski waved his hand, chuckling as he drew Sadiq's attention. Ivan's chin was resting on his palm, allowing him to watch the two seniors with a sort of mischievous ease. A grin painted itself onto his face. "As funny as this is to watch, I have a question," he said.

Sadiq scowled. "This doesn't involve you," he sneered. He was ignored.

"Were you two past boyfriend-girlfriend or something?" Ivan asked. "You know, since you two are acting like jealous love birds right now."

"Love birds?" Monica and Sadiq chorused together. While the girl immediately turned an even darker shade of red, the latter started to stand, looking ready to start another fight.

He was stopped, however, when Tim drifted from his desk to the scene. His back erect, he slid into the seat behind Ivan, laughing hollowly as he placed a hand on the other's shoulder. "It's nothing like that, Braginski," Tim said, waving two fingers around in the air. They held an imaginary cigarette close to his person, miming like he did then of taking a long, fulfilling drag. "Sadiq's been trying to get into her pants for years, but—"

"You know that I am right here, right?" All four looked at Mr. Bonnefoy. Sitting behind his desk, he was glaring at them darkly, a student's report crinkling in his hands.

Tim rolled his eyes and shadowed another smoke. Ivan gave a friendly smile. "In my defense, it was Jansen saying those things, not me. Plus it's never wise to kill the messenger, so if you're going to get mad at anyone, you should be mad at Sadiq."

Sadiq immediately placed his ice pack back on his desk and lifted his hands up into the air. "There's nothing I want to do to her, sir."

Mr. Bonnefoy skimmed his eyes over them, releasing a stressed breath through his nostrils. "Back to your seats," he ordered as he returned to his work.

Ivan groaned, but his light voice made it sound more like a sigh. "Really? What are we supposed to do for the rest of the hour then?"

"I said return to your seats, not stop talking." The boys could not help but to grin happily as the obliged, leaving behind Monica and Sadiq. She looked at the brunette for a moment longer, a sharpness in her stare, before slowly rising to her feet and returning to Cai.

Sadiq watched her leave, her braid swishing back and forth like a pendulum on a clock across her back. The click of the heels of her flats was the accompanying tick-tock. Tick, tock, tick. He touched his chin tentatively. The pain was gone. He knew that there was going to be a large, purple bruise on his face for a week but he could live with that. No one expected him to have anything different.

Sadiq propped his chin under his hand, frowning as he watched Cai and Monica start a new round of poker. The boy dealt out the cards, smiling slyly as he shot them out, quick like a bullet and more accurate than a gun. Monica turned around and asked Lovino if he wanted to join them, but he curled his lip and hissed for them to piss off. That pricked the nerves on Sadiq's neck.

"I guess that means it's just you and me now." Sadiq's frown deepened as Ivan leaned towards him, his hand still tucked beneath his chin. The corners of his lips poked upward, making his round cheeks pop out from his face. "What do you wanna talk about?"

Sadiq raised his chin, gave a small 'hmmph,' and turned his back to him. "Nothing."

"Nothing's a pretty cool concept, I guess," Ivan lazily replied. "'The absence of anything.' Of course, that's impossible, for there's no way there can literally be an 'absence of anything' anywhere. There's always something around, something going on." He paused, waited for Sadiq to reply but none came. He shrugged. "Like let's take what you said earlier about wanting to do nothing to Monica." Sadiq looked at his sideways through narrowed eyes. "According to my definition, there's no such thing as wanting to do nothing, therefore, you really do want to do _something _to her." Ivan smirked. "I wonder what that is."

Sadiq turned to him, giving him a look colder than snow. "There isn't anything going on between us," he said curtly. "Let it go."

"Oh, so you're avoiding the subject."

"You're avoiding the point."

"A point that contradicts mine."

Sadiq groaned. "Really, Braginski?" He demanded, his voice rising in volume. He could feel all the eyes in the classroom drift towards him, but he could care less. "What do you even want from me anyways?"

To his aggravation, Ivan shrugged. "Entertainment, really." Sadiq rose to his feet, creating a fist with his hand. Just as Mr. Bonnefoy was jumping to his feet, demanding Sadiq to lower his fist, Ivan smiled. It was the same smile he used before, the secretive— _knowing —_one that felt like nails scratching a chalkboard. "But I do find you very fascinating," he said. "So obviously hiding something." Sadiq paled. His fist unraveled itself— an unfortunate aftermath of the sweat suddenly coating his palm. He swore. Since when was his hand clammy? "I wonder: what exactly are you hiding behind all that violence?"

Sadiq realized that he wasn't breathing. His lungs refused to work.

Vertigo made his world spin and he thought, for a moment, that he was going to barf, but then he remembered that his stomach was empty and he could smell the bitter perfume of alcohol wafting through the air.

Whiskey.

Someone was drinking whiskey.

Mr. Bonnefoy clapped his hands. "Alright, break it up you two." Sadiq fell from whatever height his head was caught in and remembered where he was and who he was talking to. The damned stench was gone, another product of his imagination. Ivan looked at him smugly. Mr. Bonnefoy sighed, shaking his head as he shielded his eyes with his hand. "Since none of you know how to get along, no more talking until detention is over."

The students groaned. "That's not fair!" Lovino shouted out. "Those idiots were the ones ruining everything!"

Tim snickered. "Why do you care?" He demanded. "You don't even talk to anyone."

Lovino turned red. "Shut-up!"

Their teacher scowled. "Tim, Lovino—"

"It's simply a beautiful thing called peer pressure," Cai suddenly said. A congenial glint danced in his eyes as he mindlessly shuffled his deck. "Mr. Bonnefoy is probably hoping that by treating us all punitively, we'll pressure both of them into not doing it again."

"That is usually the gist of it." They hushed as the man at the door was finally noticed.

Mr. Bonnefoy sighed at the sight of him, pushing the awry strains of hair out of his face as he forced a smile. "Thank you, Arthur," he nearly sneered. "But I have this completely under control."

Arthur Kirkland, a tenuous man that resembled a stick more than a human, glared at him with acid green eyes. "That's obvious," he stated, his tone as dry as the hay-colored mat of hair on his head. It somehow suited the formal plainness of his clothes— a green vest, dress slacks, a bulky black watch. "That is, if 'under control' means creating a boisterous noise to rupture anyone's ears then yes. Everything's under control."

Mr. Bonnefoy looked ready to kill. His gripped his fist tightly, closing his eyes as he mouthed a quick prayer. The students knew that if they— nonetheless, _Monica —_were not in the room, he would be rolling up his sleeves and relenting to a fight. But he didn't. Mr. Bonnefoy ground his teeth, opened his eyes, and tried to look pleasant. "Charming. Why is it that you're here again?"

"Matthew, actually." Arthur glanced around the room, skimming over every person equally. "I can't find him anywhere," he said.

"I haven't seen him."

"Are you sure?"

"If I saw my nephew anywhere, I would know," Mr. Bonnefoy sighed. "But if I hear anything, I'll tell you."

Arthur gave him one last sullen glower before turning on the heels of his penny loafers and marching away. Mr. Bonnefoy waited until his back was gone before sighing in relief and collapsing into his chair.

No one moved and no one else spoke. They simply just folded their hands and waited quietly for the hour to end.

* * *

When the detention bell finally rang, Sadiq was the first to gather his things and fly out the door. Down the dusty gray hallways he went, passing the ugly green doors and squeaking his sneakers on the white linoleum floors. He could feel Monica on his heel. Whether the girl was an imaginary one or not, he didn't know, but he didn't stop to check. He only sped down the hallways, ignoring all else as he climbed down the stairs with thunderous steps.

His foot had barely touched the bottom step when he ran smack into someone. "Shit!" He swore, stopping his fall on the rail. His eyes went out of focus. Sadiq groaned, blinking out the film until he saw the girl he had crashed right into.

She was younger than he was, wearing a navy blue skirt, dark leggings, and a matching sweater. Her pain-contorted, yet still flawless face looked cute with her large blue eyes and blond hair pulled cutely back by a bow. She was on the ground, hissing at her pained backside. All around her were the spilled contents of her shoulder bag.

"I am so sorry," Sadiq apologized, quickly kneeling to gather her stuff back together. "I wasn't looking where I was—"

"Just hand me my stuff," the girl harshly growled. He stared. How did those adorable eyes of hers suddenly grow so fierce? "Hey, are you deaf or something?" Sadiq bit back whatever comment he had and quickly stacked her freed notebooks. To her credit, she did help by gathering the contents of her spilled pencil case.

Luckily, she did not carry that many things with her, so the task was easy. Sadiq, nearly done with his work, frowned at the way she frustratingly jammed her utensils back in place. "Calm down," he ordered, fixing the cover of the last notebook. "It's not the end of the world."

The girl looked at him and curled her lip. "Whatever. Just give me that." She snatched the notebooks back and stuffed them back into her back.

Sadiq sighed, rose to his feet, and outstretched a hand. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Her hands ran through her bright blonde, nearly silver, hair. "I'm perfectly fine," she spat. Sadiq released another breath before hold his hand closer to her. The girl groaned, but by the way she eagerly took it, Sadiq could tell that it was an act. She muttered a "thanks" as he pulled her up.

Immediately after, she yanked her hand back and pulled her sweater sleeve closer to her wrist. She held her arm protectively behind her back. "So what's your name?" she asked, sending him a hateful glare.

Why did she hide her arms? He wiped the curious gaze from his eyes. "I'm Sadiq."

"Natalya Braginski." Sadiq suddenly felt like a huge idiot. Of course—this was Ivan Braginski's clingy younger sister. Out of everyone in the world, why did he have to end up talking to the sister of the guy whom he just argued with? Natalya gave him an annoyed look, asking, "What? Is there a problem?"

Sadiq quickly shook his head. "No, there isn't—"

Her eyes narrowed. "It's because I was Alfred's girlfriend, isn't it?" He stared. The brunette had heard that the dead kid had one, but for it to be this girl? She seemed rather hostile to be the lover interest of someone who was generally chirpy and ecstatic.

"I sorry for your—"

"I don't need any of your condolences," she quickly spat. Sadiq bit his lip. Was this some sort of grief process or something? It seemed as though the very mention of Alfred was making her want to strangle someone. Like him. Natalya's eyes drifted behind Sadiq and her frown loosened. "There you are, Ivan—" Sadiq stiffened. "—What took you so long?"

A large hand appeared on the teen's shoulders. "I was cleaning up a mess," Ivan replied. "Adnan gave his girlfriend some trouble and I had to clean it up. Was he giving you any, Nat?"

Whatever irritation Sadiq had lost immediately came crashing back. "I wasn't giving her any," he groaned.

Ivan grinned. "Then breaking a woman's heart must come naturally to you then," he said, the joyous visage never leaving his face.

Sadiq pushed Ivan's hand away. "We were just talking," he snapped, feeling the need to hit the junior once again.

Ivan frowned. "I wasn't talking to you, Adnan." Turning back to the blond, "Natalya?"

Natalya sent him a dark glare, simmering with hate. Sadiq smiled sheepishly and took a step back. She curled her lip. "No. He didn't," she said. In a split second, she jumped back to her brother, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "But where have you been?" She demanded. Her voice took a sudden shift from a growl to a girlish plea. "I was waiting out here like you said but you were two minutes late and—"

Ivan sighed exasperatedly. "Didn't I just say? I was comforting his girlfriend—"

"She's not my girlfriend!" Sadiq groaned. "Know what? Never mind. I'm outta here." He stalked off then, burying his hands into the pockets of his green jacket. It was an old one, fraying at the edges, but it served him well. Everyone at Everest could agree that one did not see Sadiq Adnan without his green jacket.

Sadiq heard a few voices behind him as he left, a plea and a sigh, but he ignored them. He had to go to work without delay. Any more funny business and he'll be late and his boss less than happy. Sadiq pushed through the doors of the school, stepping upon a cracked gray sidewalk. It was framed by overgrown grass—half dead, half alive. It ended abruptly at the long black street that stretched out in either direction. It was deserted.

Lonely.

That was expected—everything in Everest was lonely. It was a suburb to the big city miles down the old country road, a small speck on a white map. Many people commuted out of town to the city for their jobs, only returning to sleep in their newly built houses. It was a detail that reflected greatly on how the town worked: fast but relaxed.

Everest High, the only high school in the area, had two large fields for playing sports and a cracked asphalt court for everything else. Surrounding the backside was the forest, stretching on endlessly in a cool and peaceful manner. The street Sadiq walked down had one or two houses every few hundred feet with trees filling in the gaps. Most of them were pine, forcing the few maple trees to fill the autumn scenery with rich shades of yellow, red, and brown.

The walk to the Beilschmidt Parlor was a long one and Sadiq spent the entire time listening to the rhythmic crunching of dead leaves under his feet. He had to admit that the thirty minute walk down country roads and houses was difficult, but it was much worse during the winter. Then, snow would be on the ground and weigh his feet down like rocks.

Sadiq closed his eyes and sighed. A little voice in the back of his head jabbed him. What did Ivan mean when that he broke Monica's heart? Other people ruined their chances of talking, not him.

The again, he was pretty eager to flee the scene of the crime before she, or anyone else for that matter, could talk to him. Maybe he should have slowed down and tried to talk to her … When the car slowed, Sadiq initially paid it no heed. His head was crammed to the brim with other thoughts—thoughts of Monica, his job, his brother. But the honk popped a small beat, startling him to attentiveness.

The car was a beat up pick-up truck colored like dirty water. Sadiq's eyes skimmed over the dents and scratches before resting on the driver: Ivan. He sat next to a frowning Natalya, his elbow resting on the open window. He peered through the shotgun window, a prideful look splattered across his face. Sadiq felt his stomach drop. "Need a ride?" Ivan asked, grinning unashamedly.

He shook his head, pulling his bag a little farther up his shoulder before marching away again. "No."

Ivan's truck spurted a few meters, nearly passing Sadiq. "C'mon," he said, trying to keep a casual tone in his voice. It was failing. He was starting to sound desperate. "I promise you that I'll be quiet." Sadiq shook his head and kept walking. "Did you know that Heracles is failing math?"

Sadiq paused in his steps. His brother? Failing math? "Impossible." He reached into his pocket and grasped his phone tightly. "Heracles would tell me if he was."

"Frankly, if I had you as I brother, I wouldn't."

He shot his head around. "What the hell do you know anyways?" Sadiq demanded suddenly. "You're just a jackass of a bastard!"

Ivan shrugged. "I've been called worse."

"Dick!"

Natalya sighed loudly, slumping lower into her car seat. "Can we go now, Ivan?" She demanded. She sounded exhausted, but was not tired enough to spare Sadiq a sharp and narrow look. "I have to do homework."

Ivan stared at Sadiq for a moment longer. His light eyes were hard, as if to ask "are you really sure?" Sadiq crinkled his nose and turned away, starting his march again. At this rate, he really was going to be late. As he walked, he heard Ivan press the accelerator again and he sped past him. Sadiq watched the dirty truck disappear down the road, trying to mute his thoughts.

Heracles trusts him, right? There would be no way the brat would ever keep something like that from him. Sadiq has done nothing but try to help him. His little brother had to understand that.

Right?

He felt acid rise in his throat. He huddled closer into his jacket and continued to walk, listening to the crunch of the leaves beneath him.

He arrived downtown soon enough. At first glance, the focal point of Everest was the image of the stereotypical 'small town' center: a single, long street with the basic businesses. Perhaps it had started that way, but anyone who lived there knew that the street was just the trunk of the town tree. From it, branches of lanes decorated with more family owned establishments and some corporate stores stretched until it kissed the edges of the woods.

The ice cream parlor was one of the newer buildings located on the corner of Main Street and 7th Avenue. Everyone remembered the time when the strange foreign man first bought out the old convenience store. He was a newcomer to town, a fascinatingly lean man who somehow single-handedly transformed the run down building into a small, yet comfortable hang-out for the teens of the town. The neon red sign above the door clearly displayed the pride the German held for the results of his hard work.

Sadiq also felt a sense of pride when he walked in. He could not count the hours he spent at the parlor, clearing tables, cleaning the linoleum bar, and mopping the black and white tiled floor. For the most part, his boss manned the counter with a large smile as he scooped the colored flavors into sprinkled cones. Sometimes, if he was caught up in the sweet scents, he would order Sadiq to take care of the bakery division— ice cream cakes galore.

Admittedly, making ice cream cakes was not the most sophisticated of dishes, but it was still cooking. A small step is was, but it was one that would bring him a foot closer to culinary school. And from there, his own restaurant.

Hearing the bell chime as he opened the door, Sadiq paused and wiped his feet on the mat. His eyes drifted around the room, drinking the sight of the relatively modern restaurant, save for the small, single German flag pinned over the smiling picture of smiling, foreign teenagers, "2003" carved in gold on the thick brown frame. Small circular tables were scattered across the room, crowded by a few cushioned stools. A long bar stretched across the room where there were more chairs and the cold displays of ice cream. There was a good crowd today, Sadiq noted, watching the teens of Everest high hanging out as they dipped spoon in cups and licked sweet scopes of pink and brown and white.

"There you are, Sadiq!" His boss waved at him from the other side of the counter, a large grin on his face. Gilbert Beilschmidt was a tall man, lean and young. His skin was a pallid white that blended neatly with the matt of ghost blond hair on his head. He dressed rather casually in a pair of patched jeans and a polo shirt, but his black and white apron clearly defined his station of work. Sadiq waved nervously as he quickly went to the employee side of the counter. "Where have you been?" Gilbert asked, speaking through a thick German accent. "Your shift started twenty minutes ago."

He shrugged, doing his best to sound casual. "I was at detention."

"Detention?" Gilbert's shriek stretched its shrill arms across the room, causing the twenty-odd customs, all teenagers from Sadiq's school, to turn their curious heads. Sadiq opened his mouth to beg him to hush, but Gilbert's harsh scowl prevented him. "_Verdammt_, Sadiq! This is the third time this month! I swear, that I—"

Sadiq finally slapped a hand over his mouth. His boss turned ready. He raised a hand, ready to rip it away, when Sadiq pressed a finger to his mouth. "We're disturbing the _customers," _he hissed.

Gilbert looked hesitantly at his parlor. Pushing Sadiq's hand away, he looked gave them a sheepish look. "Sorry for that," he said sincerely. Sincere, but simmering with anger. He grabbed Sadiq's hand. "We'll be in the back— just ring the bell if you have a problem." And with that, he pulled Sadiq into the backroom.

While the parlor looked rather like a checkerboard, the backroom was a steel prison. Steel industrial refrigerators filled with cartons lined an entire wall, directly across an equally steel oven. Splitting the two sides apart was a long metal work table, dusty with flour and sugar. Sadiq let Gilbert drag him into the far corner, only releasing him when he could give Sadiq a hard glare. "What the hell were you thinking?" Gilbert hissed harshly. His employee averted his eyes to the ground, shrugging heavily. "Well? What was it this time?"

Sadiq could have lied. He could have told his boss that he missed a homework assignment or was late to class, but he could not bear to lie to Gilbert. He was the one person in town who would hire a teenager with disciplinary issues. Gilbert allowed him to cook, gave him an excuse not to return home until it was late. Telling the truth was the least he could do to pay off that debt. "I beat up Lovino again," He said, defeated, preparing himself to be yelled at.

Sure enough, Gilbert's creamy skin boiled red. "Again?" He practically screamed. "Sadiq, how many times do I have to tell you? The violence has to stop!"

"He was saying things about Alfred!"

Gilbert went silent, his newfound color draining from his sharp cheeks.

Alfred F. Kirkland— where could Sadiq possibly begin? He would not necessarily call himself the kid's "friend," but when he and Monica were little and still the closest friends anyone had ever seen, she and Mr. Bonnefoy would drag Sadiq with them to the Kirkland household for family dinners on Saturday. He and Monica played for hours with Arthur Kirkland's sons, twins Alfred and Matthew, and promptly forgot about the bonds they made the moment they exited through the front door.

Of course, time later wiped the tangible connection he could have ever had with Alfred away and by the time middle school came about, the two barely spoke. Alfred was of no concern to Sadiq until he and Monica reached the end of their friendship. Sadiq became Alfred's enemy then. No one was to hurt his cousin's feelings and expect to get away with it.

But Alfred was a hero, not an enemy, and soon time eroded that strife away. Sadiq went on to pick up the cross of other worries and became Everest's most loathed delinquent. Alfred turned his eyes to sports and soon was a member of every sports team the high school had to offer. The town adored him. He had the greatest chance of earning a scholarship and escaping this prison. He was genuinely a nice guy. There was no one to hate him.

Then the fire happened.

Alfred, born on the Fourth of July, decided to spend the holiday at his house celebrating with family. He went to bed early that night; a day full of jubilation and memories had worn him to exhaustion. If he had been awake, he would have realized that stray sparks from the fireworks had ignited the dead leaves in the woods behind his house. The rest of the Kirkland family did, screaming for everyone to run outside before the house was engulfed in flames.

But Alfred never came out. He slept through the screaming and the heat and eventually his own death.

In such a small town like Everest, it is only natural for the people to feel shaken at their roots. Such a sudden accident had ruined such a sunny life. Even with the funeral over and long past— four months since —Alfred's name could not be spoken without heavy air. Arthur Kirkland should have taken time off work, but he insisted on resuming his job teaching Alfred's classmates the moment the school year started. The Bonnefoys also felt a sense of remorse, though a more quiet kind. Monica and Francis both knew to let Alfred's nuclear family take the sympathies.

Sadiq heard a few rumors about him, whispers that his death had been no accident, and, in a way, it was the one thing keeping Alfred alive. His name was a ghost that passed through every person of Everest, dragging cold fingers through their hair and wrapping arms around quivering shoulders. Alfred's name was to be spoken with reverence.

Lovino broke that silent vow.

Sadiq was positive that it had been none of his business, but the brunette had been ranting very loudly. He had hear Lovino clearly from his locker down the hall, gripping his hand on the green, metal door as the throng around him grew steadily more and more uncomfortable. "The damn guy was egotistical anyways and I didn't even like him," Lovino was saying, unaware of the glares students were giving both him and his girlfriend, Alice Jansen. "And now they want to dedicate the gym to him? Bullshit."

Alice, a tall blond with round cheeks and eyes the color of leaves, let a frown coat her mouth as she hushly told him to lower his voice.

Sadiq glanced up from his locker. Standing at the door of his classroom, within Lovino's ten foot radius, was Arthur Kirkland. He muttered greetings to his incoming students, his arms folded over his chest as he flickered a hurt glare towards the loud teen's general direction, looking hurt, before turning his attention elsewhere. He heard Lovino, just like everyone else.

Sadiq had enough. He swung his bag onto his shoulder, cracking his knuckles as he marched towards his prey. A few people recognized what he was doing, but it was too late; Sadiq was already yanking on Lovino's shoulders. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He demanded as he glared down at the smaller man.

Lovino's lip curled and he sent his a narrow, savage look. "None of your business, asshole," he replied, jerking his shoulder away. "Now go away."

There was that moment, as Sadiq recounted later, where he seriously considered doing just that. Maybe it was the feeling that everyone in the hallway had their eyes trained on his back. Maybe it was Alice worriedly begged for him to "please leave us alone." The junior girl was beautiful and Lovino— in Sadiq's opinion —was lucky to have her. Just looking at her pleading eyes made his grip loosen.

Sadiq was about to let him go.

Then Lovino gave him the middle finger.

Sadiq punched Lovino square in the jaw, and Arthur sent him to the principal's office. Principle Muhammed was long used to their problems and, with a laconic resolve, sentenced them to an afternoon in detention.

One Sadiq's story was over, Gilbert was silent. It reigned for a long moment, settling like ice over the gray back room. He stared at Sadiq unwavering, making the latter's nerves unravel.

Sadiq hesitantly spoke. "Gilbert—"

His boss finally reacted, releasing a long sigh. "Alright, fine. I get it. Just …" His eyes lost their hard glint, taking up a shield of stress and loss instead. "Please, Sadiq. Just don't do it again." Sadiq lowered his face, nodding solemnly. Even if he never said it, Sadiq was sure Gilbert was going to fire him the next time it happened. He couldn't lose this job. He needed to stay out of his house, to make a good example for Heracles.

Gilbert cracked a smile, saying, "C'mon now, all is forgotten." He patted Sadiq's shoulder. "Get to work. We have a crowd today." Sadiq smiled at him before running to pull on his apron.

Getting lost in work was easy enough. All of his attention was directed towards serving whoever would pay, scooping spheres of sweet ice cream. Before he knew it, the hours had passed and the clock was chiming a ten. No matter how much he begged, Gilbert never let him work overtime. He insisted that Sadiq had to do his school work and kicked him out before closing. From there, it was the long walk home.

The autumn nights were dark and chilly, the only light from the moon and the orange glowing streetlamps. But tonight it was a weak crescent moon and the lamps were far and few between (there were not many since there were trees at every doorstep). Leaves crunched noisily beneath his feet, making the dark road to his left and the black forest to his right less empty. Everest always shut-down after nine.

Sadiq lived in the old part of town where a large radius of land surrounded each house. On his street alone, about a mile long, there were only five or so homes. The rest were trees and brush. Three homes down were the white walls of the Adnan home. Compared to the others, his was a little run down, with dirty paint and overgrown grass, but he had little time to care for it. Standing before it at the street, Sadiq saw that the curtains to the first story windows were glowing with imprisoned, yellow light. The front porch light was on as was the front bedroom on the second floor— Heracles's room.

His blood started to pop and, just like every night, Sadiq's legs started to shake. He ignored it though, shaking away whatever fear he may have felt. He occupied his hands instead, sauntering to the rusty tin mail box out front to collect the mail. He dragged his frozen feet up the creaky steps of his peeling white porch. Sitting on the front step, right beneath the porch light, Sadiq lingered there as much as he could, scowling thickly as he checked the bills. Living was expensive.

From where he sat, he could hear the soft noise of the T.V.

Sadiq tried to go as slowly as he could, but the bills eventually ran out and he had no reason to continue stalling. Resigning himself to his fate, he opened the screen door, undid the lock, and stepped inside. At first, he was greeted with the smell of cooked food— leftovers Sadiq had made the week prior. He smiled as he closed the door and dropped his bag to the ground. As he pulled off his jacket, Sadiq indulged himself in hopeful dreams. Maybe today would be the day where it finally ended. A soft smile even found its delicate way onto his visage.

But then the disgusting stench finally met his nose.

It was bitter and sour to the taste. Sadiq could feel his palms sweat as he recognized the source.

Bourbon.

For an instance, his world stopped cold.

His instincts screamed for him to run with his tail between his legs back to the ice cream parlor and beg for the night shift. More than anything, he wanted to be anywhere but there. But just as he started to hastily put his arm back through the green jacket sleeve did he remember the light upstairs. Heracles was home and Sadiq would not abandon him here.

A sick feeling welled in the pit of his stomach. Sadiq wondered how he could be so selfish. He could _never _leave Heracles alone. Slowly, the teen forced himself to take his jacket off and hang it in the hallway closet. Taking a deep breath, he commanded his legs to walk him into the family room. The sight disgusted him.

In the dark room, empty bottles of liquor were scattered across the floor. Their brown tinted glass decorated the throne of the tanned man he dared to call Father. Father was asleep on the couch with the TV as his lullaby. His dark hair was a small tuft against the sand colored cushions. The business suit he did not bother shedding was a camouflage to the rest of the cave.

Sweating, Sadiq stared as he gathered his courage. For all he knew, his brother was watching him right now, waiting to see if he would lose his guts and run away. Sadiq, however, was determined to do the exact opposite.

Trying to be as affectionate as possible, Sadiq uncurled the half full bottle from his father's hand. Gently, he placed it on the coffee table so that he could pull his mother's old quilt over him. "I hope work wasn't too hard today," he muttered, petting the man's hair.

For his whole life, Father was an insurance worker in the big city; one of those men who commuted each day. He once was a strong man, always smiling and eating sit down dinners, but those days left the moment his wife did. Now all he did was drink, leave for work, return home, and drink again. Sadiq remembered a time when his father had been a strong, proud man he could happily look up to. Now he was only a shell of what he once was; a mere mirage in the sunlight.

In a way, Sadiq understood why his father was like this. He liked to believe that if Heracles suddenly left without explanation, he would break down as well. Maybe that was the reason why Sadiq could still lean in, kiss his father's forehead, and mutter, "Sleep well."

He collected the empty bottles and carried them to the kitchen. There, as he placed them in the recycling bin, he noticed the remains of a single meal. Heracles had dinner.

Sadiq spent a few minutes cleaning up, reminding himself to spend his day off work tomorrow buying groceries and making a fresh dinner. When all the dishes were clean and the wood floor swept, Sadiq poured himself a glass of sweet apple juice: fuel to push him through his late night homework.

His school bag over his shoulder, Sadiq quietly climbed up the stairs. The door to his parent's unused bedroom was shut, as was his brother's. But soft light seeped from the crack beneath the door, a comforting beacon in the dark. Sadiq carelessly threw his bag through the hallway of his dark room before knocking on his brother's door. A soft grumble answered. "Hey, can I come in?" Sadiq asked, pressing his ear to the door.

Heracles mumbled a "no."

Sadiq opened the door anyways.

Heracles's room was not the cleanest. Everything seemed to be out of place, yet in their perfect spots at the same time. It was as if all Heracles owned was thrown neglectfully aside with a defined purpose. His old dresser in particular was crowded with many different kinds of marble— "The Building Blocks of Rome" or so Heracles called them. He laid on his bed, the sheets wrapped around him like a mummy. His stomach was pressing against the mattress and his laptop at his chin.

Heracles himself resembled his room. His curly brown hair seemed uncontrollable, yet tamed all at once. His brown eyes duly glanced from the screen and glared at his brother. "I said not to come in," he growled.

Sadiq shrugged. "Yeah, but I wanted to check up on you," he replied. Heracles looked back at his screen. Sadiq forced a grin. "So did you eat dinner?"

He shrugged. "Yeah."

Sadiq sighed. Leaning against the door, he crossed his arms over his chest and asked, "Did Kiku tell you about what happened at school today?"

Not even the mention of Heracles's best friend could cause his dull brown eyes to falter. "Yeah."

"I want you to know that I am not expelled, but I was punished for it." A pause. "What does that tell you?"

"That I shouldn't follow your terrible example."

Sadiq frowned. He wouldn't call his example "terrible," per say, but he did have to admit that he had made some dumb decisions in the past. Attempting to be the good example he desperately needed to be, he nodded. "I'm glad we've reached an understanding then. Did you do your homework?"

Heracles cocked a condescending eyebrow. "Go do your own Sadiq," he drawled. "I know that you're just procrastinating."

He opened his mouth, prepared to lecture him on how he did this because he cared, but Heracles's eyes were on his laptop and his attention was long gone. Ivan's words came back to him. Heracles was failing math.

Or was he? Ivan was a liar and there was no way Sadiq was going to be that gullible. And besides, Heracles would talk to him about everything. Releasing an irritated air, Sadiq quickly reminded him one last time to go to bed early before calling out a quick "goodnight, kid."

Sadiq closed the door behind him, sighing again as he closed his eyes. The hallway was the same black as the inside of his head, though when he closed his eyes, he could see faint swirls of green and pink.

* * *

**MW: **And at last, the new version of _Within Ash and Snow _is up, of course under a new title. I really don't want to give up on this story because, really, there is a pretty good plot in this if I may say so myself.

I would like to thank you all for taking the time to read this. I have a lot in store for this story. Someone on WAS suggested that I do smaller update lengths in order to keep the lab between tumblr and this site small. I think I might do that. Please drop in a review and let me know what you think! It always makes my day.

**Name Guide**

Monica Bonnefoy- Monaco

Cai Zhang- Macau

Tim Jansen- The Netherlands

**Thank you for reading! Feel free to follow/favorite/review!**


End file.
